I was in Bermuda with the American Society for Travel Writers. Our convention ended on Sept. 9, but due to a hurricane nobody could leave. Everyone rescheduled; some got out on Sept. 10. I was scheduled to leave on Sept. 11. Not a very important day up until that time. On the way to the airport our taxi driver got a call from his son, saying that an airplane had crashed into a building in New York City. The driver and I talked about how tragic it is when a big plane crashes and people are killed. When we arrived at the airport one of our party came walking out of the terminal shaking his head “no.” He told us we weren’t going anywhere and led us to a TV monitor where we saw the towers in flames. Everyone got back into the taxi and we returned to our hotel.
Over the next five days our hotel turned into an international city because planes from all over the world were forced to land in Bermuda and then turn around and go back. The hotel set up computers so we could email and the people in our convention organized dinners. Everyone in Bermuda was in sympathy with Americans. They held special prayer services in their cathedrals, parks, and hotels. The outpouring of love was huge. I cried and prayed, cried and prayed for five days. Finally we got to go home. I was worried that I would lose my mind, but made it home and now it’s two years later, Sept. 10, 2003. I’m still praying. Things haven’t gone the way I would have hoped. Devastating two countries in retribution is cruel and ruthless. I’m afraid of our foreign policy – it will not bring peace in the world. Our bombs are not vitamins. We need to change course and promote peace in the world. That’s all.